


Our Battles

by Persephone_Smiles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Disorder, Castiel being Perfect, Coping, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Healing, Human Castiel, Mental Health Issues, Mythology Lover, Nurse - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Psychnurse!reader, Reader-Insert, Schizophrenia (Kinda), Self-Harm, Tic Disorder, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-08-23 04:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8313802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone_Smiles/pseuds/Persephone_Smiles
Summary: Set during Castiel's penance post-purgatory. Cas responds to Readers prayer for help and catches her self-harming. Fast forward a few months after Sam closes hell. Reader comes to the bunker at Castiel's insistence to keep her safe from Metatron. Along the way she tries to help with Dean's alcoholism, Kevin's borderline psychosis, and Sam's depression.  Meanwhile, Metatron seems to be plotting something bad, killing angels for their grace...Psychnurse!reader, eventual Cas/Reader, chapter 1 can be stand-alone I just got carried away...





	1. Internal Dialogue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So I've been enjoying reading SPN fanfiction for so long that I figured it's about time I try and contribute to it. This is kind of my labor of love. I'm a psychiatric nurse who also has a few psychiatric problems, so this was somewhat cathartic to write. I also packed as much psych nurse wisdom in here as possible in case you also struggle with mental illness. 
> 
> This was initially supposed to be a one chapter deal...but 24 pages later and I think I've gone a little overboard. Its about three-quarters written, and I should mostly be able to post as I edit. This chapter can still be read as a stand-alone.

You unlock your door and practically fall through, allowing your cheerful mask from the day to fall. 

It was a long day at the psychiatric ward where you work. Alice was back. Alice, the sweet new mother who has been on an off the ward three times in the past six months for postpartum psychosis. Each time she comes in, she is more hopeless than the last. Right before the end of your shift, she finally broke down crying to you about how badly she wanted to be a good mother to her child, but that her family is clearly better off without her. Your heart broke with hers. 

Most of the time being a psychiatric nurse was incredibly rewarding. A lot of people with mental illness just need a little medication and a lot of therapy and they're good as new. Other times it's a real bitch. When you're fighting your own demons it only becomes worse. 

You threw a longing look towards the liquor cabinet, but instead moved towards the bedroom. You have a very strict routine to keep your anxiety and depression under control. No alcohol, no caffeine after twelve, no sleeping pills. Gym everyday, work as many hours as you can to reduce any free time you might use to think, and a pretty little white pill by the name of Zoloft at night. It keeps you treading water, you're the most functional you've ever been. However, even the slightest change in routine and you know you could be drowning again. 

In fact, lately it seems you've have more bad days than good. You idly think that you should put a few more hours into the gym squelching further desire for alcohol induced oblivion. You shucked your scrubs off onto the floor and slip into a nightgown. Now that you don't have to be strong to heal your patients, in feels as if the air has thickened. Your movements are slowed and labored. Your breathing becomes more labored, and it feels like you can't get enough oxygen into your lungs. 

You knelt in front of the altar you keep in your room, and light a candle. Scattered across it are healing idols from different religions; Apollo of Greece, Imhotep of Egypt, Kuan Yin of Asia, and a few generic angel images. After being in healthcare for a while, you've prayed with plenty of people of different religions. You don't know which one was right, but as long as the concept you were praying to was good you saw no harm in trying. 

If anyone is listening. You thought, Please make it stop. Please make it easier to breathe. Please watch over my patients, ease their burden and help our Doctors find the magical medicine. 

The prayer didn't help thin out the air. So you moved onto your next coping mechanism. Still kneeling in front of the altar you closed your eyes and started to count your breathing. Breathe in...two...three...four. Hold...two...three...four. Out..two...three...four. 

It helped some, but the second you stopped counting your breath came out in erratic, uneven pants again. You searched the room and tried to name as many different colors as you could, then started to spell the colors out. R-E-D book. Y-E-L-L-O-W walls. G-R-E-E-N plant. 

Finally you sighed, and recognized that inevitably only one thing would help today. You retrieved a small wooden box from under the altar and removed a fresh razor blade and a few gauze pads. You hitched the hem of your nightgown up to expose what should be the skin of your thighs but is really just a patchwork of scars. 

You sent out one more silent prayer for help before allowing the cold metal to bite into your flesh, blood welling up in its wake. One...two...three...four...five.... You exhaled in relief. The air seemed to have cleared and you could breathe easily. Fleeting peace.  
There was strange rustling sound behind you and then a gasp. 

“What are you doing?” a rough, masculine voice asked from behind you. 

You scrambled up from your knees and put your back to a wall. In front of you stood a man in a trench coat. Under other circumstances you would have let your eye linger over the hard lines of his face, the dark sex hair, and the eyes the were so blue. You were aware that this man might be here to kill you and that isn't the time to dwell on how sexy he is. There was something familiar about him...

“What are you doing here?”

“You prayed for me, Y/N.” He said, cocking his head to one side in confusion. 

Then it hit you why this man looked so familiar. He had been on the news a few months ago “smiting” people. You remember cheering him along as he killed the scum of society- those who preyed on the weak. He called himself...

“God?” you choked out. 

Fuck, you just thought God was sexy. Can he read your mind? Of course he can, he's God! What is God doing in your bedroom? 

“No...not anymore. Not ever, really.” He said, discomfort evident. 

“I saw you on the news, you killed bad people. You said you were God.” 

“I am an angel.” he said softly, “A foolish angel who thought he was more important than he really is. My name is Castiel.” 

“It's nice to meet you, Castiel...sir.” you said, not quite sure what the protocol is for meeting an angel. 

“Just Castiel,” his lips quirked up in to a smile then back down to a frown, “You are bleeding.” 

You blinked, “Yes, I am.”

“You did that to yourself.” he said, cocking his head again. 

“Yes, I did.” you replied quietly, even though it wasn't a question. He did just watch you do it, after all.

“Why would you intentionally make yourself bleed? Were you afraid that you were possessed?” He moved to sit down on your bed and you take a fleeting moment to wish he were on your bed for other reasons. It'd been years since a man was in your bed, relationships tended to shake up your careful routine too much and send you into a bad spiral. For that reason, most of your sexual experiences were only alcohol-fueled half-remembered nights.

“Possessed? That's a thing? Um...no, it's complicated.” 

“I wish to understand if you would try to explain.” He said, motioning for you to sit next to him. You picked up the gauze that you had dropped when you initially thought he was an intruder, and attempted to mop up the blood that had run down your legs. You frowned at some of the dried parts that wouldn't rub off so easily, but held pressure on the still bleeding cuts and sat on the bed facing the angel in your room. 

There's an angel in your room. A very handsome angel. Asking about your best kept secret. You focused intently on your thighs, pretending to be preoccupied with quelling the flow of blood so that you didn't have to make eye contact. 

“I have a mental illness. Well, mental illnesses really. Plural. Generalized anxiety, Panic disorder, Social Phobia, and Chronic Tic Disorder.” you tic off your diagnosis list like one might list off groceries, “One doctor tried to diagnose me with Major Depressive disorder, but I disagree. If you had a panic attack every time you got out of bed, eventually you wouldn't get out of bed too. It's just self-preservation.” 

Castiel wrinkled his face in confusion, “I don't understand what those words mean.”

“Do angels feel fear?” you asked, unsure how to explain it to a being that isn't exactly human.

“Under normal circumstances, no. Angels are meant to be God's warriors, fearlessly fighting and dying.” Castiel seemed lost in thought for a moment, “I'm not a normal angel, though. I feel many things I should not. Yes, I know what fear is.” 

You nodded, “There's something wrong with me, I feel fear all the time when I shouldn't. Ever since I was little. A person says hello, I panic. I have to get the mail, I panic. I have to call the doctor for an appointment, I panic. Sometimes when it gets bad, the muscles in my head and shoulders will twitch. Other times when it gets really bad, I'll forget how to breathe and it feels like I'm dying.”

“That does not sound...pleasant.”

“It's not. I control it pretty well, I'm on medication and have a routine that keeps my anxiety manageable. Other people have it so much worse... and I'm the most functional I've ever been, really.” 

“That still doesn't explain...that.” He said, gesturing at my thighs and at a clear loss as to what to call it. 

“It's called self-harm. When everything gets too much, the blood and the pain help. I could go into a long winded explanation of neurotransmitters and the gate control theory, but ultimately that's all it is. It helps. I don't do it much. I work with psychiatric patients and I try my best not to be a hypocrite if I can help it.” You let your hair cover your face, embarrassed by the whole thing.

There was a pregnant pause before Castiel spoke, “I believe I understand. It sounds as if you are fighting a battle of sorts. In battle, you either draw the blood of your opponent or your opponent draws your blood. Since it sounds as if you are fighting with yourself, it makes some sort of sense.” 

You looked up in shock and gaped at him. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

“I do not like it,” he continued, “but I won't judge you for it. We all do what we have to in order to survive. Is it okay if I heal you?” 

“You can...heal me?”  
“I am an angel” he said, quirking up his mouth into a slight smile. You tried to ignore the way your heart raced at the sight. Stop crushing on the angel who probably thinks you're crazy by now. 

Then it hit you, he can heal people. The realization made you hop onto your feet and you're tugging at Castiel's arm trying to urge him towards the door before you can fully register what you're doing. 

“Forget about me, I have a full ward of people who need healing. Please, there are so many people who need a second chance.” 

“That is not the way I answer prayers, Y/N.” he said gently, pulling you back onto the bed, “The person has to pray to me, and then the brightness of their soul is what guides me to them. I can not just heal a whole ward of patients without drawing suspicion.” 

“Please, please.” you begged, “Just one, then. Instead of me. She's a new mother and she loves her kid so much. I'd give anything to be able to let her live the life she deserves. Please, Castiel.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I'll heal you both.”

“Thank you!” you threw your arms around the angel, to both your surprise. He patted your back awkwardly. When you pulled back he placed two fingers on your forehead and you felt a pleasant warm tingle flow through your body. 

When removed the fingers, you took stock of yourself and frowned. The subtle thrum of anxiety was still there in the peripheral, the air around you still too thick and constricting. 

“You didn't heal me, Castiel.”

“I did.” He frowned, confused. He gently removed the gauze on that was currently sticking to your thighs with dried blood to reveal nothing but scars. He had healed your cuts. 

“Oh...thanks. What about my brain, though?” you asked, trying not to give into the sinking feeling in your gut. 

“I can't heal wounds of the soul. I'm sorry, Y/N.” 

You fought back tears. “It's okay” You're so fundamentally broken that not even an angel can heal you. 

“Would you still like to heal this woman you care for at the hospital?”

“I don't think you can help her, Castiel. I'm sure there's plenty of people at the hospital that would love your help, but I only know the ones whose illnesses aren't physical.”

He got up and started to make the motion to leave- 

“Wait!” you're not sure why you do it, you just didn't want him to leave. It's strange for you to feel so comfortable with someone and you didn't want to lose that feeling yet. Even if it is with a sexy angel who knows your worst secret. He looked at you expectantly, so you allowed yourself to word vomit, “Thank you for smiting that one Preacher. The one who hates gays? He was a real dick.”

Castiel paused, and sat down again. “It was a foolish thing for me to do.”

“I had this one patient, he was just a 16 year old boy. Really sweet, shy, adorable. He always made sure to compliment the other patients and the nurses. I think he liked to make other people smile. Anyway, he was on and off my ward for a year. His parents were big followers of that preacher, and the kid was gay. He was so sure he was something evil because he wanted to kiss boys. He killed himself a few months ago, jumped off a bridge. I blame that preacher.”

“That makes me feel better to know. I do not feel guilty for ending his life anymore.”

“You shouldn't...Castiel? Why did you say you were God?”

“It's a long story. One I shouldn't share.” he paused and looked at you hard, then continued, “I'm going to anyway, though. There's something about you. My Father is somewhat absent. He's left us angels a lot to deal with, me especially. I did some bad things to keep the world from ending, and after all that I just wanted to do better than my Father did by humanity.”

“Do you know many stories outside of the Judea-Christian system?”

“Not much. Are you about to make a popular culture reference?” he asked warily. 

“No, you just remind me of someone...” You told him the story of Icarus, whose father was a great creator. His father made the Labyrinth that contained the monstrous Minotaur. He also created wings out of wax and feathers. When Icarus was to go on his first voyage with these wings, his father told him 'Don't fly too high or too low, follow my exact path'. When Icarus took to the sky, he was so elated he kept flying higher and higher- closer to the sun. The heat from the sun melted the wax on the wings, and he plummeted to Earth. 

“That's very beautiful.” he said after a pause. 

“I think there are lessons in certain mythology stories.”

“It's something uniquely human, the ability to weave such beautiful stories. I think that is why it is said that humans are made in my father's image, He gave you the ability to create like Him” he noticed you stifling a yawn, “but for now I think it's best you get to sleep.”

You nodded in agreement, trying not to show disappointment at this oddly magical night ending. 

“If you feel the need to engage in this activity again,” he said, rubbing a thumb over your thigh, “Pray to me and I'll try to help you through it. I do not like you doing this to yourself.” 

“Thank you.” you smiled genuinely. “If you ever feel like you want to hear more stories you can visit me. I know many more. 

You brushed your lips across his cheek before you lost the nerve, and was rewarded with a very surprised expression on the angels face before he disappeared in a fluttering of wings. 

You fell asleep with a foreign smile on your face.


	2. Take You with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon divergence occurs here. Sam finished the trials and died, but Chuck brought him back like he did with Cas a million and one times. As a result, hell is closed and the main problem of the day is Metatron and the angels. Demons aren't a problem, but obviously closing hell didn't get rid of monsters or ghosts because they're a different species all together coming from Eve. Since Sam died and came back, Gadreel never jumped into Sam and never forced Dean to kick Castiel out of the bunker. It also means Cas was never in a position with Bartholomew where he needed to steal another angels grace, so he stays human here.

You haven't called to Castiel since the first accidental prayer, but that didn't stop him from visiting. He seemed to have an uncanny sense for when you were on the edge, and showed up in your room before you had a chance to get to far gone asking you to share a story. He would tell you stories too. At this point you knew all about the things that go bump in the night, all the near-averted apocalypses, and the current sticky situation with God's scribe and the angels. 

You've picked up on a few Supernatural tricks in the time in between visits. You started to take some fighting lessons in addition to your normal gym time, and the local librarian probably thought you were crazy for how many lore books you've checked out. It was pretty hard to just lie dormant when you had the knowledge to help people. It was actually shocking how many patients you were able to help on the psych unit. A surprising amount of schizophrenics were just haunted by ghosts, and one was even hexed by a particularly nasty witch. 

When Castiel showed up looking pained and telling you he was going to close the gates of Heaven behind him, you kissed his cheek goodbye then cried the whole night. You'd slowly but surely come to rely on your angel, and if you harbored some likely one-sided feelings who could blame you?

******

You're sitting in front of your altar, the candle lit and a bloody razor in your hand when the door bell rings. Odd, you're not expecting anyone and it's abnormal for anyone to drop in. The only friend you have is locked in Heaven. It must be a Jehovah's Witness... you figure the least you can do is let them out of the heat and give them something cold to drink. You slap a few bandages on your thighs and put your pants up before moving to open the door. 

Something wearing Castiel's face stood on your welcome mat looking uncomfortable. In one movement you grab the holy water you keep next to the door and fling the water at him. He scrunches up his face, but doesn't seem repelled by it. 

“Why does everyone always do that to me?”

You flung yourself into his arms, overcome by joy that he was still on Earth. He awkwardly placed his hands on your hips, trying to reciprocate the hug. When you inhaled, Castiel's scent hit you like a wall and sent shocks straight to your core. He always had a muted, pleasant scent before. This was that times a hundred. You sprung back as abruptly as you held him, and ushered him inside. 

“You should really cut me with silver. The holy water wouldn't have done anything if I were a skin walker.” 

“Skin walker? Those are a thing?” you shook your head, “You wouldn't have told me that if you weren't Cas. How are you here? And why did you knock instead of poof-ing in?”

“I can't 'poof'' anymore.” He did wide, unpracticed air quotes, “The ritual went terribly wrong. I'm human now. I'll explain later, I promise. For now I need you to pack, you're in danger.” 

“That's why you smell different.” you muttered more to yourself than for Cas to hear. 

It's a testament to how much you trust Castiel that you started to move towards the bedroom and grabbed a suitcase down from your closet.

“I need you to explain, I really can't just leave,” you said, even as you tossed clothing into the suitcase, “I can't just leave my job on no notice.”

“I'm afraid to say there are many angels after me currently. Metatron tricked me with the spell, it didn't close Heaven with the angels in it. It evacuated Heaven of angels and locked the door. My grace was the final ingredient.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, “That doesn't explain why I need to leave.” 

“You are very...” he seemed to struggle with his words before settling on, “important to me. A few angels knew about my visits with you before the fall. I have good reason to believe they would use you against me. I need you to be protected.” 

“Okay. Where will I be protected?” you asked, resigned to the need to leave. 

“That's up to you,” he ran a hand through his hair nervously, a very human gesture, “I can help you get set up in Mexico if you'd prefer to live by yourself. However, if you'd be amenable to it, we could really use your help back at the bunker.” 

“I'm not a hunter,” you frowned, zipping up your suitcase. Of course you'd prefer to be with Castiel, and finally meet the rest of 'Team Freewill”, but you also didn't want to be a liability, “How could I be helpful?”

“You heal souls as a trade,” you opened your mouth to correct him on his overstatement on psychiatric nurses but he continued on, “I am worried about the others at the Bunker. Dean is intoxicated more often than not, Sam hasn't laughed in months, and Kevin keeps repeating the word “falafel',” he tilted his head in confusion, “No one will explain to me what 'falafel' is.”

“It's a Mediterranean food...are you sure I would be helpful, Cas?”

“I would have retrieved you previously for your help, but I didn't want to interrupt your life. I'd also selfishly like you with me, now that I can't 'poof' to see you. I enjoy your company.”

“Bunker it is, then.” you said, trying to ignore how your heart raced at Castiels desire to have you near. His resulting wide smile was almost worth the stress of disappearing...almost. “I need to stop at my hospital on the way, though. Let my boss and patients know I won't be back.”

“Anything you need.” he took your packed bag from you and went to leave, but paused at your altar with a strange cross between humor and confusion on his face, “Is that me?”

You knew immediately he was referring to the angel sculpture on your altar that you had tailored. It was a male angel kneeling with his head bowed in prayer, clutching at his sword. You had glued on a Barbie's trench coat to make it into a “Castiel” angel after meeting him the first time. 

You laughed, “Yes, it's you.”

“The artist was trying to depict my brother Micheal, in the sculpture.” he explained, but you didn't miss him slipping the sculpture into his pocket. 

******

Your boss was surprisingly accepting of your sudden resignation. You were expecting some sort of angry reaction since you were leaving the floor short staffed on such short notice, but instead your boss had hugged you and said she hoped your “family emergency” worked out. Apparently four years of loyal service got you somewhere. 

Still, when you got back out to Castiel waiting in his car you were wound pretty tight. The whole situation was foreign to you, and as the adrenaline of the situations started to fade your false bravado crumbled as well. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked with a furrowed brow. 

You said something reassuring but didn't even really hear it yourself for the rushing white noise in your head. Castiel started to drive, but you weren't really able to tell how far he had gone or how time was passing. You could feel your brain and body start to disconnect. Trying to come back, you roughly pressed your nails sharply into your wrist and focused on the pain. 

“Y/N!” Cas shouted, like he had been trying get your attention for a while. You weren't able to move your head to give him full attention, but you numbly dragged your eyes over to look at him peripherally. He looked as panicked as you felt. Warily, you realized that your breathing was coming out in short, overly fast pants. Fuck, you forgot to use your coping mechanisms and now it was bad. 

“I'm driving to the hospital, I don't understand what is happening but I can't heal you as a human.” his voice was raw with fear, and his words only caused your already racing heart to skip. ER staff did not do well with psych issues. 

“Don't...okay....panic...attack.” you managed to force out of your lead weighted tongue. 

The car jerked you forward as Cas pulled into the bend of the road and slammed on the breaks. He looked at you with wide, panic filled eyes, “I don't know what to do. Just...just breathe!” 

You tried to fix him with a sardonic gaze through the haze of anxiety. Thanks, Cas. So helpful. Still, you fixed yourself to his blue eyes and tried to use them to tether you back to reality. B-L-U-E. C-A-S-T-I-E-L. He patted at your back shakily, and the physical sensation helped you start to lengthen your breaths still coming out overly fast. Cas was rambling, something about breathing and wishing he were an angel. You didn't really pay attention to the words but the low rumble of his voice as you finally evened out your breathing and settled into the bone-deep exhaustion that tended to follow your panic attacks. Your skin prickled from the hyperventilation. 

“Thanks, Cas.” you say softly. 

He paused in his ramblings, checking to see if you were really out of the danger zone, then took a shaky breath himself. “What was that?” 

“A panic attack.” you replied, somewhat confused. Wasn't it obvious?

“I don't understand.” 

Then again, Cas hadn't been human for long. You try to explain it as chemically as possible, “It's part of my anxiety disorder. Sometimes, my body will send me a rush of epinephrine, activating my sympathetic nervous system...basically giving me a fight or flight response. My body thinks it's being attacked, and react accordingly. Blood and glucose are drawn away from my brain and towards my muscles, making me light-headed and dizzy. I start to breath faster to have more oxygen available and my heart rate increases to deliver that oxygen. I'm ready to fight...but there's nothing to fight. So all that oxygen isn't used to fight, but has to go somewhere and instead alkalizes my blood. It's like turning my blood into ammonia, poisonous...like my body is fighting itself.” 

“I'm taking you to the hospital.” he said, jaw setting rigid. You laughed, and he glared at you. 

“It's over, Cas. Even if it weren't, There's literally nothing helpful the hospital could do. They would offer to admit me to their psychiatric ward, or worse force me. It's not dangerous, not really.”

His eyes softened, “I don't like it.”

You laughed again, more bitter than mirthful, “I don't either.”

******

A bump in the road woke you up. You felt bad that you fell asleep, normally you make a better road trip partner than that. The car was eerily quiet. 

“Hey Cas, why aren't you playing the radio?”

He tilted his head, “I didn't think to.”

“Angels,” you huffed and shook your head, “What type of music do you like?” you started to fiddle with the radio.

“I don't know. Dean listens to rock.” 

You settled on a rock station, enjoying it yourself.

“Albert Smith, aged 32, was found with his eye sockets burned out. This is the third homicide in the past week...” a male radio announcer said.

“I thought you said that hell was closed?”

“Angels have been killing humans out of confusion,” he explained, “Metatron also seems involved. He's been stealing grace from angels then smiting them. We haven't figured out his motive yet.”

You frowned in thought, then a rock song you really enjoyed came on. You started to sing along with the words and dance like a dork. Castiel smiled wide at you, eyes shining with fondness.


	3. Calm Under the Waves

“This is the bunker.” Castiel said, pulling up next to a black Impala. 

“Home sweet home.” you mumbled. Meeting new people wasn't easy for you, so you started to count your breaths to try to calm the nerves. Your head flung to one side in a twitch, but you expertly covered it up by feigning to look behind you for your bag. Stupid twitch, it'd been a while since they were so prominent. 

Cas opened the door to a giant underground room lined wall to wall with books. You knew you were slack-jawed in awe. Three men sat at a table in the center deep in research. Two of them looked up from what their books and got up to greet you. 

The one who was a full head taller than anyone else in the room clapped Castiel on the should and told him he was glad Cas made it back. The other one just stared at you in confusion with his piercing green eyes. 

“Dean, Sam, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Dean and Sam,” he gestured over to the man hunched over a hunk of rock who had yet to look up at you, “That's Kevin.”

You smiled at both of them and extended your hand to shake, which Sam took. He offered you a reassuring smile. 

“This was the emergency you didn't have time to explain? What the hell, Cas?” Dean said.

“She was in danger due to me, Dean.” Cas said calmly, “Bartholomew's faction became aware of her and they would have used her as leverage.”

“Then you put her on a bus to Mexico. We're not exactly safe, people around us get dead.” 

Crap. They don't want you here you are going to be a burden you should've just stayed home and let the angels smite you...

“I will protect her.” Cas said resolutely. 

“Cas, buddy, it's not the easy-” Sam started.

“I will protect her.” Cas repeated resolutely, cutting Sam off, “Besides, we need her here. She has skills that are becoming necessary.” 

“What skill could this kid possibly have that we need, knitting?” Dean looked at you skeptically. You stared boldly right back at him. Bravado that was completely fake, but he didn't need to know that. 

“She heals souls.” Castiel said smugly. 

“I'm a psychiatric nurse.” you quickly translate. 

“You brought us a fucking shrink?” Dean laughed, a bitter sound. 

“Dean, your drinking is concerning to me and-”

“I'm a nurse.” you cut Castiel off. Now was clearly not a productive time to confront Dean about his drinking, “I could probably prevent a lot of ER visits from hunting accidents. I've been told my stitches are good.” you smiled awkwardly then added, “I can also cook.” 

“You don't need to convince us of your worth, Y/N.” Sam said, “Ignore Dean, he's just being a jerk.”

“Bitch” Dean muttered, and stormed off down the hallway, presumably to his room. 

“It is dangerous to be around us.” Sam said, seriously. 

“I'm okay with that, as long as I can be useful.”

“A psych nurse than can cook? Yeah, I think we can put you to work. Welcome to Team Free Will.”

*******

“Military experience?” you asked Sam with a small laugh. 

You had asked to see their medical equipment so you knew what you were working with. Sam brought you a first aid box with whiskey for disinfectant, dental floss and sewing needles for stitches, and bandannas for bandages. 

“Yeah, my Dad was a Marine. He taught us all we know about patching up wounds.” 

You spot some scary looking, stiff needles. 

“And what are those for?”

“Sometimes we need to use our blood for spells, or get blood from dead men to stun vampires.”

“Where did you get those needles, a 1950 insane asylum?” 

“We don't all have access to hospital grade supplies.” Sam teased. 

“Yes, you do. Have you ever heard of a medical supply store?” you stuck your tongue out. Being with Sam was nice, he was easy to talk to. You could quickly see yourself becoming good friends with him, and that was a comforting feeling for someone who was rarely able to get close to people on a personal level. “I'll find one near us and go get some supplies today.”

Sam looked a little uncomfortable, “I'll come with you. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be going out alone, there really is a big target on your head if anyone figures out you're with us.”

You had to cover a twitch, that sounded very confining, but you said, “Great, the company will be nice.”

******

 

In the end you and Sam had gotten a bag full of proper bandages, a few IV kits for blood, sterile suture kits, some saline and IV tubing, and even an EKG machine just in case. You also stopped at a grocery store to pick up some fresh food, and cooked a nice dinner for the bunker. Dean grumbled about the lack of red meat, and Kevin just stared blankly at the plate. 

Regardless, it was a productive day when you finally laid down. You were almost asleep when there was a tentative knock on your door. 

“Come'n.” you mumbled, and Cas walked in looking awkward. He was in just a shirt and boxers, and his normally messy hair was even worse as if he'd been tossing and turning. 

“What's up, Cas?”

“This is different than when I was still an angel and would fly into your house when I wished for your company,” he blushed and ran a hand through his hair, “My mind seems unable to stop for long enough to sleep, yet my body requires sleep.”

Pointedly not thinking about how it could be weird you patted the bed next to you, “C'mere”

He sighed relieved, and laid down with his hands crossed behind his head. You propped yourself up on one side facing him. 

“What's going through that mind of yours?” you tapped his forehead playfully for emphasis. 

“I feel very guilty. Every time I close my eyes I think of all the angels out there fighting each other, dying. The world is in ruins, and it's all my doing.” 

“Why do you feel it is your fault?” you ask gently, putting on your nurse hat with him. 

“I'm the one who locked them out of Heaven, who put everything into such disarray.” 

“Did you do the spell?”

“No, Metatron did.”

“And what did you think the spell would do?”

“Lock us all in Heaven so we could reconcile.”

“It sounds to me like everything you did was trying to help the world. It's not your fault if it doesn't work out that way.”

“I...I guess that makes sense.” Cas said, somewhat lost in thought.

“Every time you start to go down this path I want you to do something for me. For every negative thought you have about yourself I want you to come up with three positive reasons it's not true. For example, you start to think you ruined the world. BUT you averted the apocalypse. You tried to fix your family problems even if you were mislead. You've also saved countless lives during your penance.” 

He tilted his head, lost in thought but said, “I will try, for you.”

“That's all I ask, If you start to have trouble you can always come to me.” You mentally take off your nurse cap because you're about to do something that would be unprofessional, “Roll on your side away from me. If this makes you uncomfortable, let me know and I'll stop.”

He sent you a curious look but obeyed. You started to softly sing the lullaby your mom used to sing you when you were little. You gently ran your hands up and down his back in a soothing motion. He hummed contently, and soon he was snoring. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to follow suit. You kept a hand on his back, it was comforting.


	4. What's Another Day?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Dean's being a bit of a jerk, just bear with me. I'm not bashing him, I adore him. He just needs to work through some stuff.

“Hey Kevin.” you say kindly, “I brought you lunch.” you placed some mashed potatoes and peas in front of him. He grunted and shoved it away. So far since you've come here you haven't seen him eat anything that wasn't boiled hot dog with his hands. 

“Cow blue fights the girl.” he said with a far away look in his eyes. His talking pattern had devolved into word salad, characteristic of severe schizophrenia. Typically your recommendation would be a healthy dose of anti-psychotics. However, you knew it wasn't quite schizophrenia. Rather trying to decipher God's word was driving him off the deep end, and unfortunately he couldn't just stop trying to read the stupid rock. 

For surely the Pythia's life was shortened through her service of the God. Plutarch words came to you to aptly describe Kevin's current state. Plutarch was one of the Priests in ancient Greece tasked with watching over the Pythia, and Prophetess who spoke the words of the God Apollo. 

...actually, that gave you an idea. The Pythia was only able to enter her trance every so often after heavy ritual. The idea was that if the Pythia spoke to the God too often, it would drive her mad. Maybe what Kevin needed was less time on the tablet, and more ritual surrounding the reading. 

A weeks break would probably suffice. 

It was a dangerous thought, for if it didn't work it would mean you had wasted a week of precious time. Yet if it did work...Kevin wasn't having much luck with the current system anyway. 

You gently slide the tablet away from him. He tries to grab for it weakly and looks at you with a far away expression. 

“Monkeys need keys.” he pleaded. 

You took his hand in yours firmly to give him something in reality to focus on, and you start to talk in a soothing tone as he tries to come back to himself. You tell him the story of Odin, the Norse all-father God. Odin thirsted for knowledge, and one thing that had been outside of his reach was the sacred language of runes. In order to gain the ability to read runes, he had to spear out his own eye then hang himself upside down with no food for nine days. 

By the end of your rambling, Kevin's gaze seemed to hold more focus to it. 

“How are you doing, Kevin?”

“...okay.” he seemed to have to search for his words. 

“What kind of TV did you watch before all this?” you asked, figuring something mindless might help him to continue to come back to himself. 

“Honor student...didn't watch much...” his talking pattern was still labored, but worlds better than before. Poor kid, didn't sound like he had much of a life even before this mess. 

“I've been meaning to watch the Walking Dead.” you tell him with a smile. 

His resulting smile and watching him slowly come out of his haze was worth the reaming Dean gave you for “halting progress” and being a “stupid shrink who doesn't know anything about real life”. 

**************

You tumble out of bed with a sigh and pull on some yoga pants and your running shoes. Sometimes you enjoy exercise, but most of the time it's a painful means to an end. Even on your worst days pushing yourself through exercise dulls the buzz of anxiety and shuts up your internal voice saying that you are a horrible waste of space. 

You didn't find out about the magic of exercise in any healthy way. It was a day when you wanted so badly to hurt yourself. You were going through one of your phases where you thought you could quit self-harm forever. You figured that running until your lungs burned for air and a little past that would be a healthy way to let your masochistic side out. You were right. 

You were halfway out the door when the low rumble of Castiel's voice stops you, “Where are you going?”

“Morning Cas, just going on a quick run.”

“I don't know if that's the best idea.” he frowned, “You leaving the bunker unprotected is dangerous.”

“That's okay,” you fidget, and try to cover up a shoulder twitch. It's difficult to express how important little things like a run can be to your mental functioning. Beyond it being difficult, you don't really want to explain how fragile your brain really is to this beautiful angel, “If something happens I'll deal with it.”

“I promised to protect you.” Castiel's frown deepened, and you caved. Hopefully you can find another way to get out the excess energy. 

“Keep me company while I cook breakfast?” you suggested. Castiel's face light up making his brilliant blue eyes even starker. One day without running wouldn't be the end of the world. 

*******

Excess energy still prickled under your skin, growing stale with lack of expenditure as you and Cas walked to the kitchen. Your head twitched, hard, and you didn't bother to hide it as Cas was not looking at you. You did knead at the spot because- ow- these twitches could hurt sometimes. 

“Will you start cracking some eggs for me?” you asked Castiel, and he nodded and turned to the carton with a look of serious concentration on his face. You turned around and started mixing up some pancake batter. You figure cooking a nice meal might help get some of the nerves out. You started to hum as you worked.

Cas made a strangled sound behind you, and you turn around to find him with a hand full of egg shell and a bit of yolk splashed on his cheek. You can't help but laugh until your side starts to aches. He scowls at you, “I don't see how this is funny. The egg was not cooperative.” That only made you laugh more. 

“You haven't cooked before, have you Cas?”

“Angels don't cook, you know that.” he pouted, and you were tempted to kiss the pout off his face. Instead of embarrassing yourself with his rejection, you washed out the bowl and demonstrated the proper way to crack eggs. Castiel copied with clumsy hands. 

“There- now you can say you've cooked.” you smile at him and he beams back. He gets such strange pleasure out of human activities. 

He sits down to mitigate any possible damage to the meal with his “cooking” and you turn some rock music on the radio. Soon you're channeling your unexpressed anxiety into singing and dancing along while cooking. Castiel is watching you with amusement, so you decide to bring him into it to wipe the expression off his face. You grab his hand and pull him into spin before he knows what is happening. 

There's obvious surprise in his eyes, but it fades into something warmer as he puts his hands on your hips and sways with you. His hands were so warm where they touched you that you were surprised it didn't burn. He twirls you around three times and then brings you into a dip. Soon, you're both laughing. Maybe Cas can't cook, but he should could dance. 

*********

“I'm scared.” Kevin said, “What if it doesn't work and I have to go back to the way I was before.” 

Kevin's week of break had passed fast, and by the second day he seemed to be back to himself. He was a bit of a dork, but you kind of liked him. Today was the day you were going to see if using the Pythia approach would be helpful. Kevin had been fasting and praying all day. You were about to take him into a dark room where myrrh was burning and he would hopefully be able to read the tablet with more ease. Cas, Dean, and Sam were all there, and you had a pad of paper ready to scribe anything he said. 

You didn't want to offer false reassurance, it's unhelpful and insulting. You simply said, “We'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Let's just focus on now.” 

You led Kevin out and he sat in front of the tablet. He took a deep breath to steel himself, then looked down at the hunk of rock. Immediately his eyes dilated and his breathing deepened. When he opened his mouth to speak, the voice was booming and not his own, “OIAD OL CHDR OIAD OL OLLOR”

“Fuck, what is he saying?” you muttered, trying to phonetically write it out as best you could. 

“It's Enochian” Castiel whispered, taking the pen from you and writing it down in flawless script. 

“OIAD MONONSOL OLLOR,“OD OIAD OL OBZA DS OI...”

“Is it working?” Dean whispered, and Sam elbowed him into silence. 

“UKAL Y YKZHHKAL  
BABAGE Y EDLPRNAA   
RA-AS Y BATAYVAH   
OD SOBOLN Y RAAGYSOL  
MYKMA VNAL YALPOR OYVEAE”  
Kevin passed out, and you rushed to him. You checked his pulse, it was racing. 

“Did it...work?” he asked groggily, eyes half-lidded. 

“You bet it did.” you told him with a smile. You got him situated lying down on a couch, and made him drink some juice and munch on some chocolate to recover. 

“What do we have, Cas?” Sam asked. 

“The spell to close the gates includes the bow of a cupid, the heart of an abomination, and the grace of one who is pure.” Cas started to translate, “The key is simple, stitched into the universe”

“And? What's the key?” Dean urged. 

“It's not here. The rest is just a banishing ritual. It must be contained in the rest of the tablet.”

You let out a groan of frustration, but told Kevin, “You did good, buddy. We'll get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The occultist in me wants to share...did you know that Enochian was originally transcribed in the 16th century by John Dee? He said it was revealed to him by angels. He was an occult advisory of Queen Elizabeth of England. Some of his writings were foundational in formation of the Golden Dawn. If you are an occultist, you know that is also a precursor for Thelema, some forms of Satanism, and Wicca. Some of the banishing ritual in here was taken directly from his works.


	5. My Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is like balm on my soul, I hope it's the same for you.

The second you wake up you know it's going to be a bad day. The air is claustrophobic, far too thick to draw into your lungs. Gravity seems to have doubled down on its efforts, pressing you into the bed. Your whole body thrums with nerves. You resolve not to get up today. You roll over, and grab your razor from under your bed. You run it over your thighs and let your blood paint the sheets red without a care.

 

_Stupid. Failure. Waste. Bitch._

 

It's probably two hours after you would normally get up and cook breakfast for the bunker when Sam comes to check on you. That's part of the problem of living with other people, when you're alone you could wallow in peace.

 

“Are you doing okay in there?” he said through the door, “We wanted to let you sleep in but you're normally up by now.”

 

_Slut. Stupid-stupid-stupid. Whore._

 

“Just not feeling well today, Sammy.” your voice cracked, “Don't worry, I'll be back in fighting shape by tomorrow.”

 

He thankfully left after making you promise to call for one of them if you needed anything. The next person who tried was Kevin at about noon. You were in the middle of your third cutting session that day, and his voice surprised you. You jumped, and it caused you to cut a little deeper than you meant to. Crimson liquid gushed out at an alarming pace.

 

_I hate you I hate you I hate you._

 

“Sam told me you weren't feeling good, do you want to watch TV and eat junk food?” Kevin asked through the door. You tried to fumble with some butterfly stitches to close up the giant gash on your leg, “I have the new season of Walking Dead.” he tried to tempt you.

 

_How does it feel to be a waste of space? A complete failure? Why don't you just die?_

 

“Maybe tomorrow? Thank you for trying but I really just need sleep.”

 

You got the wound closed and the blood was just coming out a slow trickle. Crisis averted. Kevin once again made you promise to get one of them if you needed anything.

 

Castiel tried his luck around mid-afternoon. At this point you were really just wishing for everyone to leave you alone. You'll force yourself to be functional tomorrow, but for today it was just impossible.

 

_Just die already. You're bothering them, no one needs you. Stupid failure failure failure._

 

“Is it acceptable if I come in? I brought chicken soup. I've been told that chicken soup aids in getting better.” his gravely voice came through the door.

 

“That's sweet, Cas. But that's okay, I just need sleep.” your voice sounded exhausted even to your own ears. Good, it made your excuse sound more believable.

 

“I'm coming in, Y/N. You need to eat something.” The door knob turned and you cursed yourself for not having the forethought to use the lock. You look down and realize you're pretty covered with blood, and there was no fixing that now. With no other option you threw the sheet over you and hoped for the best.

 

“Y/N?” Cas urged, sounding nothing but concerned.

 

You burrowed further under the sheets. The air grew impossibly thick and the room was starting to spin. You could feel yourself start to lose control, “Please go away. I don't want you to see me like this.”

 

“You need to eat, and I'd like to check your temperature. You haven't let anyone in all day.”

 

“Please, Cas, please. Run. Run as fast as you can.” you begged. The spinning in the room got worse.

 

“I won't leave you when you aren't feeling well-”

 

You threw the blankets down and cut him off by lobbing a pillow at him with all your strength. In your impaired state it appeared logical that the pillow would make him leave. Thankfully he had already put the soup down, not that you noticed. Your vision had narrowed to a pinpoint and the rest was a spinning blur. Your breaths came in short pants, unable fully inflate your lungs.

 

Cas must have recovered quickly from your pillow attack because he was next to you, rubbing your back and speaking lowly into your ear, “I'm here with you, Y/N. Everything is alright. Just listen to my voice, count down with me. 10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...”

 

By the time he got to three you were able to count with him, and your breathing had evened out. Tears fell from your eyes freely.

 

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” you blubbered, your whole body wracked with each sob.

 

He gathered you in his arm now that the acute panic was gone and shushed your apologizes. When the last of your whimpers died down he pulled back enough to look at you with those piercing blue eyes.

 

“I was afraid this was happening when Sam told me you were sick. I wish you had come to me, but I understand why you didn't. I'm going to take care of you, Y/N.”

 

You nodded, suddenly completely exhausted and willing to let Castiel do whatever he thought he needed to. He disappeared into your bathroom, and you heard the bathtub start to run. He came back and shook his head slightly.

 

“That's a lot of blood.”

 

You didn't respond, and he didn't seem to expect you to. Instead he scooped you up bridal style and walked you into the bathroom, setting you down on the closed toilet seat.

 

“Do you think you can get into the tub by yourself?”

 

You think for a minute, before shaking your head. Maintaining even basic hygiene on days like this was difficult, after a panic attack it was going to be impossible. You could hardly hold your head up.

 

He rolled his sleeves up, then clinically stripped you of your nightgown and underwear. You blushed, this was certainly not the best circumstance for Castiel to be seeing you naked. God...he's going to see the full extent of your scars and regret bringing you here. He deposited you into the warm water, and kissed your forehead before disappearing back into the room. You tried your best to wash yourself of the dried blood, then relaxed back into the warm water. It was strange to let someone take care of you like this.

 

He came back in about ten minutes later and scooped you out of the tub. He methodically dried you and dressed you in a new nightgown. He paused and frowned at your thighs. The cut that you had to use butterfly strips on earlier had come undone and was oozing again. He pressed the towel against it and moved to grab the first aid kit. He cleaned and bandaged them up.

 

“Please come to me if you feel like you need to do this, Y/N.” his voice was strained, like it was painful for him to see you like this, “I know when I was an angel you never did. I kept tabs on you, and when your soul started to get a black tinge to it I would visit you. I can't see your soul anymore, and I'm not good at reading human cues. I need you to tell me what you're feeling.”

 

“I'm sorry.” you whispered.

 

“Don't be sorry,” he gathers you in his arms again and brings you back to bed. He had changed the sheets to clean blood free ones while you were bathing. You also notice your box of blades had been replaced back to under your bed, “Just let me help you.”

 

“You were pretty good at handling me when I was panicking, a lot better than before.” you smiled weakly.

 

“Sam has been showing my how to use something called google. It has all sorts of information. I did my research after the first one, I wanted to be able to help you.”

 

He placed you with your back against his chest and wrapped his arms around your stomach. He tucked your head under his chin and passed you the bowl of soup.

 

“I don't think that's a good idea, my stomach tends to reject food on days like this.”

 

“You've got to eat something, you lost a copious amount of blood. Besides, I made it myself.” his mouth quirked up into a proud smile, but you eyed the obviously Campbell soup suspiciously.

 

“Did you?”

 

“Sam gave me direction, but I opened the can and heated it myself.”

 

You let out a surprised laugh at his complete incomprehension of what cooking was. This was nice. There was still a crushing feeling in your chest, but letting someone take care of you was pleasant in a way you would've never expected. You took a small sip of the soup, then made an exaggerated noise of pleasure.

 

“Delicious! Thank you, Cas.”

 

He beamed, “You're welcome”

 

“Really,” you said quieter and more serious, “Thank you for everything today.”

 

“You mean a great deal to me, Y/N. It is my pleasure to take care of you when you are unable to.”

 

******

 

Castiel, Kevin, and you were sitting in the library researching Metatron when Dean and Sam bust through the doors to the bunker in a frenzy. They had been investigating a potential smiting in town, it was supposed to be easy recon. Judging from the bloody bandanna around Deans arm, something went wrong.

 

Your nurse instincts kick in and you have a space on the table cleared, a suture kit by your side, and Dean situated in front of you before anyone can blink. You pull the bandanna away to reveal a deep gash. Little rice-like flecks present in the blood let you know it had gone all the way down into the fat layer, definitely needing stitches.

 

“I'm so glad I never became a doctor.” Kevin groaned from behind you, voice queasy from the wound.

 

“What happened?” Cas asked, steeling himself into the soldier you knew he had been.

 

You started to flush out the wound with peroxide. Dean grimaced in pain, then answered through clenched teeth, “An angel caught me by surprise. We were just asking questions when he attacked, saying he was a soldier for God. Bitch was an easy kill, we ganked him immediately after he attacked.”

 

“It was like he had never been taught to fight.” Sam added.

 

You started to lie out your sterile drape, satisfied that the wound was as clean as you were going to get it. Next, you started inside the wound with a syringe filled with saline, making sure all the debris was out.

 

“Why would an angel call Metatron 'God'? We all know he's not our father, even those who sympathize with him” Castiel said.

 

You took the scalpel out of the kit, donning your sterile gloves. You carefully cut away at a few jagged pieces of skin.

 

“Fuck” Dean hissed.

 

“It was weird, Cas. This guy didn't talk like an angel. Before he attacked he told me my suit was 'on point'” Sam said.

 

Finally you took the hemostat and started to close the wound up with wire.

 

“Why would your suit be a sharp edge?” Castiel asked, confused.

 

“It's slang, Cas” Dean gritted out through the pain.

 

Cas started to reach over you to grab a book, “If you would like to keep that arm, keep it away from my sterile field.” you growled.

 

Cas pulled his arm back, not quite understanding what you were saying but responding to the threat in your tone.

 

“It's just not sitting right with me. We need to figure out what Metatron is up to.” Sam said.

 

“Kevin needs to get back on the tablet.” Dean all but growled. Kevin turned even paler than he already was from the blood.

 

“You know that's not how it works.” you said calmly, “He can only read so much at a time or it'll stop making sense again.”

 

Dean grunted in defeat. You made the final knot in the stitches and shucked your gloves off, admiring your handiwork.

 

“Nice stitches, kiddo.” Dean flashed you a rare smile and you rejoiced in the rare compliment from him.

 


	6. Habits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if updates are a little slower coming, not sure when I posted last. I'm starting a new job, starting training at a new volunteer organization, and am taking the GRE all within a two week period. Please forgive me for the wait and any mistake. I've only barely edited this chapter.

It was in the early hours of the day and it was just you and Castiel in the library, deep into research when you decided to broach the topic.

 

“Hey, Cas?” you asked, pretending that a lose string on your shirt was incredibly fascinating and that was the reason for your lack of eye contact.

 

“Hm?” he didn't look up from his book.

 

“I don't want to put myself in unnecessary danger,” you started. Cas immediately marked his place in his book and gave you his full attention, recognizing that you were about to have a serious conversation, “but I'm afraid that if somethings don't change what happened last weeks is going to happen again.” You are referring, of course, to that one bad day where you didn't get out of bed last week instead deciding to tango with a razor.

 

“What do you need, Y/N? Anything I can give is yours.” he said softly, and your heart skipped at the sincerity in his voice.

 

“A big part of the reason I was so functional before was due to coping skills I haven't been able to use here. I need to exercise, if it's dangerous to run I can bring a gun. I also need to keep busier. When I have free time I overthink.” You hid a shoulder twitch by pretending to massage it, and still refused to make eye contact. Asking for what you need was very hard, but you know its either this uncomfortable conversation or Cas eventually finding you in a pool of your own blood again. Castiel seems to think for a moment.

 

He carefully reached out and took the hand immobilizing your shoulder into his own. His hands were warm and gentle, but you could sense the strength behind them. “I told you when you came here that I would protect you, and I meant that. Even if it's from yourself. We're going to figure out a way to rectify the situation without putting you in danger.”

 

You managed a wan smile, “Thanks, Cas.”

 

“The first step, I believe, is training you to defend yourself better. I would be pleased to work with you on hand to hand combat. I'm certain Dean or Sam would gladly teach you how to use a gun.”

 

You scoffed at the mention of Dean willingly teaching you anything. Sam has been a fast and easy friend. Dean barely tolerated you. He tended to leave a room the minute you enter. Sam said he's just afraid you would psychoanalyze him and not to take it personally.

 

“If it is amenable with you, you could come with us on our next hunt.”

 

You could almost bounce at the excitement of that, “Getting out of the Bunker would be great!”

 

*******************

 

Your assessment of the situation was ultimately correct, and Sam was the one to volunteer to teach you to shoot. Dean muttered something about not being patient enough, and left the room like he always did. That was just fine by you, you've been meaning to get some alone time to assess Sam anyway.

 

It wasn't hard to see how Cas could be worried about him. Sam was always kind to you, but the dullness in his eyes was obvious to you. He seemed to float around life, not connecting to anything. His room was bare, and when you asked about it he said he didn't really see anywhere as home. Sometimes, you can hear him at night pacing restlessly around the bunker unable to sleep.

 

He greeted you with a hug and you can't help but note that his hair is a little greasy. You couldn't blame him for it, basic hygiene can be a bitch to handle when battling depression.

 

“Before we start let me say something. I know you try to keep a good face for us, but I also know you've been struggling lately, Y/N,” he said in a rush, “I'm not sure with what, but I have experience with having to fight to keep going every day. I guess I just wanted to say...keep fighting. And if you ever want to talk I'm here.”

 

“Thanks, Sammy.” you smiled softly and gave him another hug. His caring actually really touched you.

 

He set to work teaching you how to shoot. The cold metal was unsettling in your hands, and you had to consciously remain calm while holding it. Sam was a good teacher though, and soon you were able to at least hit the target even if you weren't getting the man painted on the target.

 

“How have you been lately, Sam?” you gently hedged, eyes still trained on the target.

 

“Same as always, I suppose.” he brushed off.

 

You looked him dead in the eye when you said, “If you want to talk about it, I could probably help.”

 

He put down his gun and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, a closed off sign, “I don't doubt your ability to help most people, but I don't think you can help me.”

 

“Why's that?” you also put your gun down and took a more open stance.

 

“All of that self-help junk they say helps I've tried. I eat healthy, I exercise, I challenge my negative thoughts, I've even tried taking fish oil and meditating. I'm just not meant to be happy.”

 

“What do you do for enjoyment, Sammy?”

 

His face scrunched up in confusion, “Isn't that part of depression? Not enjoying things.”

 

You nodded in agreement, “Yes, but if you're doing everything else right sometimes that can be the key. What did you used to enjoy.”

 

Sam snorted, “This has been my life since I was a baby. It doesn't exactly lead to hobbies outside of shooting and hacking.”

 

You gave him a level gaze, waiting out his self-loathing.

 

He paused, “I did like soccer when I was a kid. And reading.”

 

“Then you should find a soccer ball and enlist one of the guys to play with you. Sam...have you ever considered medication?”

 

“Medication is admitting weakness.” he said softly, “Only people who are really crazy are on medication.”

 

“I'm on medication.”

 

He looked at you with comically wide eyes, mouth gaping like a fish, “I didn't know that. Doesn't it have a bunch of bad side-effects.”

 

“It can, but if it does you normally just need to change the one you're taking.”

 

Sam appeared lost in thought.

 

You shrugged, “Think about it for me. It can make worlds of difference.”

 

*************************

 

The first case the boys let you tag along with was only a hour out from the bunker. It appeared to be another case where an angel was killed for their grace right outside of a place called 'Mickey's'. They were trying to draw a pattern between all of the angels killed, which is what led you to awkwardly questioning locals in a dive bar while wearing a scratchy suit. The monkey suit was making you miss your scrubs that were more pajama than uniform.

 

Sam was talking to a pretty blonde who insisted she had heard something while you were stuck with Dean interviewing the balding bar tender.

 

“The guy came in for a beer and was a real dick,” the bartender was saying, “The fucker probably just pissed off the wrong person...”

 

You saw a flash dark hair that was overly familiar and barely managed a polite “Excuse me” before wandering after it. Dean shot you a glare as if to tell you not to do anything stupid, and you rolled your eyes at him to convey that you were aware that he couldn't care less if you got yourself killed.

 

As you got closer you realized it wasn't a mirage, it really was a ghost from your past.

 

“Alice?”

 

“Y/N!” she turned around and threw herself into your arms. It was Alice, the new mom with new onset psychosis you cared for during your psychiatric nurse days. The one that you begged Cas to heal in your stead.You hold her, gently patting her back. When you finally pull back and sit next to her, you take a good look at her. You're not pleased with what you see. She's overly pale, and her green eyes are lit with something slightly manic. She fidgets in her seat like her body is thrumming with energy and she can barely stand sitting. That's new, she's never had a hyperactivity issue before.

 

“This is a far way away from home. Is your family here too? I'd love to meet them!” you enthused, not wanting to put a damper on the mood. You really would like to meet her little baby.

 

“No,” she said softly, “They're better off with out me. They can be happy.” She started to fiddle with the glass in her hands, sliding it from side to side in a nervous habit.

 

“Oh, Alice. That's not true. You deserve to be happy with them.” you said, your heart breaking for this broken woman in front of you. She had talked about running away many times before in a locked ward, but was always more optimist by discharge.

 

“It's okay, I am happy. I've found God, I'm doing his work.”

 

She seemed genuine, but you weren't so sure. She had never been overly religious before. Sometimes religion can help people with mental illness, giving them purpose and hope. Unfortunately, it more often tended to become an unhealthy obsession and point of delusion.

 

Alice missed a beat and the glass she had been sliding around shattered on the cold tile floor.

 

“Oh!” She gasped, you both dropped to your knees to pick up the broken pieces. She reached for a piece wrong, and you saw red welling up before she quickly covered it with her other hand. Before she could, you saw a flash of blue that typically marked an angels grace spark from the wound. When she moved her hand away, the blood was gone. You held back your own gasp.

 

Suddenly the stolen grace and dead angels made sense. Metatron was trying to make his own soldiers by mutilating humans and angels together. He was shoving dead angel grace down the throats of broken humans and calling himself God. Of course, the humans couldn't know any different, or that what they were doing was blasphemy.

 

You managed to keep up some small talk with Alice before letting the boys know what you had discovered. Before leaving, you gave Alice a tight hug and told her to be safe. Even though it has had little success prior, you couldn't help but send out a quick prayer to the real God to watch over the misguided woman.

 

***********************

 

Back at the bunker, you restlessly tossed in bed trying to get Alice out of your head. Scenarios raced in your mind- Metatron killing Alice, Alice's baby growing up without a mom, Alice's husband filling out missing person reports convinced Alice was dead...

 

You couldn't help but think that it was you fault. Someone clearly let Alice out of the psych ward before she was properly stabilized. If you hadn't left with Cas, you would've been the person advocating for her. She would've gone home more confident, and would've never left her family to follow a false God.

 

The razor under your bed was singing to you, but you didn't want to relapse again so soon after Cas had to take care of you. He was doing what he could to keep you safe, and it only felt fair that you try your best for him as well.

 

These thoughts are what brought you into the study where you knew you'd find Dean attempting to convert his blood into alcohol.

 

“What's up, kiddo?” he looked up from his whiskey bottle, “Come to lecture me on the dangers to my liver?”

 

You grabbed the bottle from his hands, and ignored as he tried to reach for it thinking you're taking it away from him to protect his health. You took a healthy swig from the bottle, not wincing at the burn as it goes down your throat. You poured two glass and slide one over to Dean.

 

“Have you ever played Bartok?” you asked, then to Dean's dumbfounded expression explained, “It's a drinking game.”

 

“I know what it is, I'm just surprised you do.”

 

You downed the glass in your hand and pour yourself another, then winked at Dean's astounded expression, “I'm just trying to catch up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the psych nurse in me, but I feel like Dean and Sam's depressions foil each other perfectly. Sam is willing to do all the good stuff to solve depression- exercise, healthy eating, positive thinking. Yet he doesn't medicate it and he doesn't engage in pleasurable endeavors. Dean won't do healthy things, but he's fine self-medicating with alcohol and engaging in casual sex to escape it. I'm trying to demonstrate that in this story.


	7. Lose Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a disclaimer, when I wrote out the outline for this story I was barely into season 9 so how they fix stuff isn't cannon.

_Everything hurts_ was your first thought as you drifted back into consciousness. Alcohol used to be a common enough coping mechanism that you recognized this as a bad hangover. You try to think back to last night, but past the fifth shot your memory blurred into blackness. Which means you probably did something stupid like always.

 

You peeled one sandpaper dry eye open to take stock of the situation, then quickly closed it when the spinning of the room brought on a new wave of nausea. You tried again, slower this time, and were able to look around. It was a bedroom of the bunker you hadn't been in before. You were on a bed, and there was someone next to you hidden under the blankets.. Fear crept in, making the thudding in your head worse.

 

You moved the blanket to the side gently to not wake the other person, and bit back a gasp when you saw Dean's short, blonde hair. Tears started to cloud your vision as you frantically searched the room for your clothing.

 

_Huh._ Your quest was cut short when you looked down and saw your clothing was still on you. It doesn't mean anything to you. You were wearing a skirt, Dean probably just didn't want to see your body. Without a hindrance undressing wasn't necessary to the deed.

 

You scurried back to your room to re-hydrate and sleep the sick off, allowing the tears to run freely. This wasn't the first time, why were you so stupid?

 

*******************

 

You didn't see Dean again until it was time for Kevin to do his weekly oracle session. Instead of Dean avoiding you this time, it was you ducking out of the room every time his voice grew near. Sam had noticed and tried to talk to you about it. You had muttered some half-ass excuse and escaped that conversation quickly.

 

When you walked into the incense-filled room with Kevin the rest of the guys were all lined up on the other end of the room. This time Cas had the paper to write on, since he was the only one fluent in Enochian. He gave you a warm smile that you couldn't help but return. When Dean caught your eye he winked. The overly flirtatious gesture was like a punch to the stomach.

 

Kevin sat in front of the tablet and like last time immediately fell into a deep trance state.

 

“OIAD OL OIAD OI CNILA NIIS.” he intoned.

 

Cas gasped audibly, and to the rooms questioning glances whispered, “He's about to tell us how to reverse the spell.”

 

“OIAD OBZA DS ADRPAN OIAD OI GOHED GIGIPAH OIAD GEMEGANZA.” Kevin continued, before collapsing. You tended to him like last time, making him drink orange juice and munch on cookies.

 

“Did we get anything?” Kevin asked with a raspy voice.

 

“The antidote to the spell is blood for blood.” Castiel started to translate, “When the one who cast the spell takes his last breath, the gates will open.”

 

“Great! We just have to find a way to kill Mega-douche.” Dean said.

 

“Kill the new God? I guess we've been up against worse odds.” Sam jibbed.

 

“I'll try to get in contact with some sympathetic angels,” Cas said solemnly, “Once we have our army we can start to make war plans.”

 

****************

 

When the awkwardness became too much to handle, you finally gathered up the courage to knock on Dean's door.

 

“Come in!” a muffled voice responded. You let yourself in and saw he was in bed bopping his head along with some rock music.

 

“Hi Dean”

 

“Hey, kiddo!” he actually smiled at you. The smile was not reassuring, it was far too familiar and you knew why, “I was starting to think you were avoiding me because of what you said the other night.”

 

“What...um...what happened the other night?” you stuttered.

 

“You proved you're not boring for once. It was actually pretty fun to drink with you, why didn't we do it weeks ago?”

 

Fun...great, fun. You knew what that meant. Fuck you're an idiot. “Did we use a condom at least?”

 

He looked confused, then pissed. “What?” he spat.

 

“I was drunk and 'fun'. I know what that means. I just want to know if we used protection.”

 

He glared at you, as if your question had been a direct insult. “'Fun' means we sang and danced to classical rock and played stupid drinking games. It means I listened while you had a chick-flick moment over Castiel, my best friend. I may be a dick, but I know not to fuck a girl when she's too drunk to say yes. Even if you were sober, I wouldn't do that to Cas.”

 

Ignoring the weird feeling his statement about Cas gave you, you focused on the important part of the conversation and exhaled slowly in relief, “You would be the first. Thank you. Really, thank you.”

 

His glare turned from anger directed at you to confusion to horror then back to anger, “That kind of thing has happened to you before?”

 

You shrugged, “I shouldn't have put myself in that situation. I learned after the second time that it's pretty inevitable. I really appreciate you not taking advantage, though.”

 

“Y/N...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck like he was at a loss, “That's not okay. If you're too drunk to remember no one should be touching you.”

 

You shrugged it off again and started to walk out the door, “Doesn't matter. How do eggs sound for breakfast?”

 

You closed the door without waiting for a response.

 

********************************

 

Castiel was already waiting for you in the bunkers gym when you arrived for your first combat lesson. He was missing his typical trench coat and tie, left in just a button down with sleeve rolled up to his elbows. When he saw you his face lit up with an unrestrained smile, and your heart fluttered.

 

“How about you show me some of what you know so I can see what we need to work on.”

 

He had you work through several different punch/kick combos, occasionally correcting your form. During one punch he tapped your elbow up a little higher. During a jab he grabbed both of your shoulders and adjusted them. In one breath taking moment while you were throwing a kick he stood behind you and adjusted your hips. Your body just barely brushed up against his, and you lost your balance winding up on the floor.

 

Overall the only reason you were able to keep your focus through any of it was by pretending Castiel was not there. That plan was ruined with his next suggestion.

 

“Your form is adequate. I think we should next try for you to get some practical experience.”

 

“What do you mean? Are you going to throw me out to the monsters?” you asked, laughing.

 

“I wouldn't do that.” his face crinkled up, not getting the joke, “I meant try to hit me.”

 

“What?” you squeaked, “I'm not going to hit you, Cas!”

 

He rolled his eyes in that exaggerated way of his where his whole head moved with his eyes, “You're not actually going to be able to hit me, Y/N. I'll block you. It's just practice.”

 

“How are you so sure? I can be fast.”

 

“Y/N...I've been fighting since before your species started walking on two legs.”

 

You nodded, still unsure about the idea. Castiel took a fighting stance, and you had to bite the inside of your mouth hard to stifle a shiver. Something about this whole scenario was making it difficult for you to maintain control.

 

You took a similar stance, and cautiously tried to land a punch to the center of his chest. He deflected it easily.

 

“Don't hold back, I promise you won't hurt me.”

 

You threw another less cautious jab which he again deflected without effort. You tried a kick that he dodged, and then a few combos all of which Cas avoided with ease.

 

Soon you were panting with the effort and pretty damn frustrated. You tried again, and your form was starting to get sloppy with the frustration of it. The next time when your fist flied toward his face, he grabbed and held it mid-air.

 

“You need to focus.”

 

You saw an opening now that he was sure you were getting tired. You simultaneously kicked the back of his knee's to knock him off balance and lunged towards him. He fell to the ground, but reflexively rolled with you so that your back was on the ground and he was pinning your arms down. You started thrashing like a wild animal, bucking your hips up trying to throw him off.

 

Cas let out a groan that sounds entirely too sexual for fighting and it made you pause your movements. You took stock of the situation. You're still pinned to the ground, flushed and breathing hard from the exertion. Cas' body was pressed close to you and...oh. Oh! There was something hard nudging at your stomach.

 

Cas blushed beet red, “I'm so sorry, Y/N. It's this stupid human body-”

 

You leaned up and caught his lips with yours on impulse to stop the apology. You pulled back and he looked at you in awe before crashing his lips against yours again. He released your arms and one hand found its way tangled in your hair while the other trailed along your side. You used your new found freedom to try to crush him as close to you as possible.

 

His tongue darted out to dance with yours. He tasted like starlight at midnight and home and pure sex all at once. You parted your legs to allow Cas to rest between them, and shivered at how perfect he felt there. He nibbled at your bottom lip and stroked your face reverently.

 

Experimentally, you rolled your hip up. He moaned loudly into your mouth which urges another buck out of you. He responded in kind, grinding down into your core hard. You whimpered, and started to claw at his back.

 

The two of you worked up a rhythm of rocking into each other, dissolving into a mess of moans and _need._

 

Cas' breath hitched, “Y/N, I think I'm going to...”

 

“Oh, God!” you responded, more moan than actual voice, “Please, Cas!”

 

He groaned and his eyes fluttered closed as his hips stutter. His bliss threw you over the edge and you almost scream with your own mind exploding orgasm.

 

You nudged him onto his back and put your head on his chest. His heart raced in his chest as you both caught your breath. You were the first to speak.

 

“That was awesome.” you said, inadequately.

 

“It was awe-inspiring.” he replied, voice gravelly and sex-wrecked.

 

You kissed him soundly on the mouth in response. You both soaked up the afterglow for a moment before laughter rumbled low in Castiel's stomach.

 

“I don't mean to be presumptuous in assuming that will happen again, but if it does could you refrain from mentioning my Father during intimate moments?”

 

You laughed with him.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote my first smut. *Hides under a rock*


	8. All This Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys. Something I've noticed about fanfiction- the problem with authors who understand depression is that they're prone to spiraling themselves. Anyway, I don't have much more to go and I'm going to try to bang this out by the new year.

You both wound up back in Castiel's bed in the bunker. Cas had shucked his shirt and you were drawing lazy circles on his toned chest.

 

“Have you ever done anything like that before, Cas?”

 

“I kissed a demon once, but that is the extent of my experience. I had much more...control...when I still had my grace.”

 

“A demon?” your eyebrows probably rose straight into your hair, “Who knew you were such a rebel?”

 

“Everyone in Heaven.” he said monotone, pulling a laugh from you.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Dean said not to touch the stove again” Cas said, eyeing the stovetop like it was going to attack him.

 

In all likelihood, at some point it probably had with Castiels cooking ability.

 

“I won't let you set the place on fire, Cas. Just trust me.”

 

He looked you dead in the eye and said a little too seriously for the flippant situation, “I do trust you.”

 

A blissed out smile tugged at your mouth. So this is what happiness feels like. As Castiel sprayed Pam with an awed look on the pan and clumsily flipped the grilled cheese you were teaching him to make, you thought back to all the times you had almost killed yourself. All those goodbye letters and desperate nights pitifully sobbing and thinking that it would never get better.

 

Maybe God was paying attention, because it felt like a miracle that you had made it this far. It would have been a real shame to have died without experiencing this.

 

“See? You can cook.” you said, gesturing to the made grilled cheese sandwich as he put the next uncooked sandwich on the pan. Cas grinned, entirely too proud of a grilled cheese for a man who had literally saved the world.

 

You couldn't help but give him a gentle kiss, his lips warm against yours. It was meant to be a quick peck but he pulled you close to him with his hands around your waist and you weren't about to pull away. The whole world fell away. This is happiness.

 

“I thought I told you not to touch the stove.” Deans voice broke through your moment, and you both jumped apart, breathing heavy. When the world came back into focus you could smell the burning bread, and quickly took the pan off the stove and clicked the heat off.

 

“I don't think it was Cas's fault this time.” Sam said, laughing and raising an eyebrow at your blush.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

You'd been playing with the idea in the back of your head for a little while to keep the people you love safe, and when Cas was in town on a meeting with a sympathetic angel it finally gave you time to implement stage one.

 

“Hey, Dean, can I talk to you for a second?” you asked, sliding into the chair next to Dean's in the living room. He groaned and dropped his head into his hands, a confusing reaction.

 

“Does it have to do with sex?”

 

“What?” you asked, completely lost and horrified.

 

“I'm not answering anymore sex question after the conversation I had earlier with Cas. I know I'm the most knowledgeable, but you can ask Sam. There's only so much a guy can take.”

 

“I...what?” you stuttered, words not making sense.

 

“You're welcome, by the way. That man would be clueless as to how to please you without me.”

 

“Stop!” you finally managed, no less horrified now that the words started to make sense, “I want to talk about Megatron.”

 

“Oh.” he said, deflating immediately before taking on a clearly false bravado.

 

“I think we both know the current plan is stupid. Attacking Metatron and his army will kill a lot of people. Maybe even Cas.” you hedged.

 

“What are you suggesting?” Dean asked.

 

“I pray to Metatron with the intention of taking the same deal Alice did- become an angel and join his army. When he materializes to talk to me, I surprise him with an angel blade.”

 

“You're not a hunter.” Dean argued immediately.

 

“Close enough,” you countered just as quickly, “I've been training with Cas and Sam.”

 

“Sam, Cas, Kevin...they'd never agree to this plan.” Dean tried instead.

 

“That's why I'm coming to you.” you told him honestly, “You know this is the smartest plan. The one that is most likely to work. We won't have to risk innocent lives.”

 

“Except yours.” Dean growled, losing his temper slightly.

 

“I'm not innocent, Dean.” you said darkly, “Even if I were it wouldn't matter. If I can do something good for the world I want to. For Alice. For all of those desperate people I've never met Metatron is tricking into giving up their lives. Have you ever heard the story of the Trojan horse?”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” he waved off, “The soldier stowed away in a gift horse to get behind an impenetrable wall. I don't want to hear your psychobabble right now.”

 

“Cas will be safe, Kevin will be safe,” you laid out instead, “Sam will be safe. I'm the only one who can do this, Metatron knows what you all look like.”

 

“Fuck.” he cussed under his breath, “We're planning this down to the second. I will be there to intervene if something goes wrong. If someone even so much as blinks wrong we're aborting the mission.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

You padded bear footed into Castiels room without knocking, and slipped into the warm bed next to him.

 

He appeared to be asleep. It wasn't a surprise, considering how late it was. You had spent a couple hours tossing in your bed trying to figure out if this was the right thing before coming to him. When the sun came up, Cas was leaving for California to talk to an angel faction. Sam and Kevin were going with him at you and Dean's insistence as backup. Really, you two just needed to be alone in order to carry out a very different plan to save the world.

 

You knew that there was a decent chance that you wouldn't make it back alive. Dean had certainly prepared you for the possibility. He had told you all the stories from his and Sam's past and it seemed that whenever they came up against a powerful opponent someone wound up dead. It wasn't a surprise to you that they were so screwed up.

 

Regardless if you lived through this, you wanted Cas badly. The only problem was with what was best for Cas. If you died, would he preferred to have had the experience or would it make the loss all the more painful? Eventually, you decided to screw all the overthinking and go for happiness. You were finally coming to understand that you deserve more than just functionality, you deserve happiness. For however long you had left you were going to chose happiness.

 

His eyes fluttered opened in surprise before he put his hand on the low of your back and the back of your head crushing you against him. He indulged in a deep kiss before briefly pulling away. You immediately attached your mouth to his neck.

 

“Am I dreaming again?” he mumbled into your next as you sucked on his ear and wrung a low moan from him. He started to nibble on your collarbone.

 

“You dream about me?”

 

“All the time. This appears to be the most intense dream yet.” Cas flipped you unexpectedly, drawing a yelp from you, so that he hovering over you.

 

“This isn't a dream,” you licked Castiel's lower lip, “I need you, Cas.” you blushed, not used to trying to be a seductress.

 

He pulled back and took your face in his hands, “Are you inebriated?”

 

“What? No! Why would you ask that?”

 

He relaxed, “Dean told me to assure if we do anything to ask that question. He said if you were you couldn't consent. I'm not sure why he felt the need to tell me that.”

 

Your heart softened at Dean's consideration, but pushed it to the back of your mind as you surged forward to catch Cas in another searing kiss. Now was not the time to think about Dean.

 

You tugged Castiel's shirt off, leaving him in just boxers. You bit your lip to avoid voicing your approval at the sight, even though you have seen him this way before the promise of more made him all the more enticing. In return, he tugged your nightgown off- throwing it across the room and leaving you in just your underwear.

 

He sat back and looked at your bare chest with awe. His hand came up to one breast and caressed reverently, drawing a moan from you. He quickly withdrew it, leaving warm tingles where it just was.

 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice deep with arousal.

 

In response you put his hand back on your breast and made him squeeze, moaning again.

 

“Good noises, feels good.” you managed to get out. You let him touch and explore at his own pace, slow to the point that you were painfully turned on. You wiggled out of your panties to expedite the process.

 

Castiel gasped and it caused you to drag your eyes open. The look of love in his lust blown eyes was enough to make you start to tremble even before his hand found your core. You arched your back and gripped at the sheets trying to ground yourself in something.

 

“Is this...correct?” Cas asked.

 

You giggled, and flipped the both of you so that you were on straddling him. “Very much so.”

 

You started to kiss and list at his chest and stomach almost frantically. The feeling was so close to a panic attack- your racing heart and panting breaths, trembling and short-circuited thoughts. It was so _good_ though. An inferno that could burn both of you up in the best possible way.

 

You got his boxers off in one smooth movement and started laying open mouthed kisses on his cock before giving either you a chance to adjust. Castiel made a strangled noise that only fueled your movements.

 

He pulled you off of him and gently pressed you into the bed, his body against yours.

 

He made a motion to move off of you and you held him tightly.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“To retrieve a device called a condom. Dean told me it was necessary to prevent us from creating offspring.”

 

It took you a second to comprehend the words, “I'm on the pill, but you can grab it if it would make you more comfortable.”

 

You kissed and nibbled at his neck as he processed.

 

“No offspring?”

 

You shook your head, “I haven't had sex since I was last tested, so we're probably safe on all fronts.”

 

“A sex test? How do you pass?” his expression was so bewildered you couldn't help but laugh.

 

“I will explain when there's more blood going to my brain but for right now I need you inside me or I might explode.”

 

His expression turned very serious and he started to rub himself against your opening. “The idea of ejaculating inside of you is quite arousing.”

 

You couldn't find it in you to make a joke about working on his dirty talk. He started to enter you, slowly, and you made eye contact. Blue eyes against yours. Every nerve ending was on fire and the whole world was on fire and it was perfect.

 

“Fuck, I love you.” you blurted out against better judgment.

 

He smiled softly, “I love you too, Y/N.”

 

Then he started to move, and everything burned together into pleasure and love and happiness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really unsure about this whole sex scene thing- super happy for suggestions.

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes! This is super terrifying to post. If you have any notes on how to improve my writing I very much want to hear it, but please be gentle with me!


End file.
